


If I Find My Way, What Will I Find?

by slash4femme



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, playing loose and fast with canon, slightly overtones of d/s, talk of bonding, talk of brain damage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 08:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1380817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slash4femme/pseuds/slash4femme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock and McCoy deal with the damage left in the aftermath of the fal-tor-pan</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Find My Way, What Will I Find?

**Author's Note:**

> beta read by [](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/profile)[**cardiac_logic**](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/) who is both wonderful and awesome. Prompted at st_tos_kink [(Here)](http://community.livejournal.com/st_tos_kink/485.html?thread=367845#t367845)

I.  
Leonard McCoy stares down at the cup of hot water in his hands for a long moment before glancing up and around the little kitchen trying to remember what it was he had been planning on doing with it. He finally spots the open jar of tea and guesses he was probably trying to make some. He sighs as he pulls out a tea bag and adds it to the hot water along with some sugar. This is not all right - he’s not all right - but there is really nothing he can do about it. It’s not like it is his fault, he thinks a little bitterly to himself. Quite frankly it’s Spock’s for scrambling his brains in the first place, and possibly T’Lar’s for making things worse. Looking back on it McCoy thinks they all should have known something was wrong the moment he got off the slab. The fact that he’d still felt so cloudy and groggy should have clued him in, while the fact he hadn’t really responded to Spock’s ‘rebirth’ should have clued everyone else in. As it was, everyone had been caught up in the moment and it had been Amanda who had finally figured out something was wrong with him. Amanda and Ambassador Sarek had very kindly hosted everyone at the huge place they call a house. When McCoy had woken up two mornings in a row so disoriented he had no idea where he was, Amanda had called the healers.

The healers had poked around in his head a little bit more and told him what McCoy already knew, namely that the human mind hadn’t been built to be shared, and that you really weren’t supposed to give someone your katra without warning them first. The mental fogginess hadn’t gone away and the disorientation came and went, as did the memory lapses. The worst part of it was no one could do anything about it, and at this point McCoy had consulted just about everyone he could think of. They all drew a blank, even him.

He sighs again and sits down at the kitchen table. He has no idea how long he’ll be on Vulcan. He thinks darkly that it’s probably a good idea they’re all being court-martialed, because it’s not like he’s in any shape to be a CMO; hell, he’s not in any shape to be a practicing doctor. He rubs both hands across his face and thinks of the endless uncertainty that had been living with Spock’s katra - not knowing or being able to trust himself, or his actions, or his thoughts, or his emotions or really anything; the sensation of being lost, being alone, being at odds with everything inside of his own head.

The door chimes and McCoy gets up and goes to answer it. Kirk is standing on the other side looking tired buthappy, and McCoy steps back to let him in.

“You look awful.” He keys shut the door and turns to look at the slightly younger man, arms crossed over his chest, “How much sleep have you been getting? Any at all?”

“I slept.” Kirk raises his hands as if to ward off McCoy’s anger. “I’ve just had other things to worry about. Spock isn’t a hundred percent yet, and neither are you.”

 _And then there is David_ , hangs between them, but McCoy refuses to bend. “That’s no reason why you can’t be taking care of yourself, Jim; no, I’m not going to drop it. Listen to me, you’re not doing anyone any good not taking care of yourself like this.”

Kirk has been moving while McCoy was talking, throwing his coat across the couch and heading into the kitchen, and McCoy follows him, not pausing in his tirade.

“Bones-“

“No.” McCoy leans against the counter, arms still folded across his chest. He’s not giving in about this. He might not be able to remember how to make a Goddamned cup of tea, but that doesn’t mean he’s just going to stand back and let Kirk drive himself to nervous collapse. “I’m not letting it go, Jim, not until you’ve had something to eat and a good night’s sleep.”

Kirk’s hands are pressed against the counter opposite McCoy and his head is lowered, “I’m sorry, Len.”

For a moment McCoy is overwhelmed by a wave of nauseating panic. Kirk’s apology had seemingly come out of nowhere - maybe there had been more to this conversation and McCoy had simply forgot it, blanked out of his mind like a blip on a computer screen. He fights down the panic and pitches his voice calm and controlled, “Sorry for what, Jim?”

“For getting you into this - any of this, all of this.” Kirk turns and waves his hand vaguely between them and McCoy snorts and rolls his eyes.

“It’s not your fault. It wasn’t your katra in my head.”

“Yeah, but I should have been paying attention; I should have realized this wasn’t normal. I should have put you on the first shuttlecraft to Vulcan. And now . . .”

And now I might never practice medicine again, McCoy thinks grimly.

“I was just so wrapped up in this idea that Spock . . . of doing this for him . . .”

“Don’t,” McCoy holds up his hand, “don’t you dare apologize for going back and getting him. If you hadn’t . . .”  
He doesn’t want to think about that; he doesn’t want to think about Spock being dead for good - not now, not ever again.

“You need to talk to him.” Kirk isn’t looking at him again; he’s been doing that a lot lately, not looking directly at McCoy, like that might be too painful.

McCoy sighs and then clasps his hands in front of himself, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You need to. You two need to talk about this.” Now it’s Kirk who crosses his arms over his chest. “You need to talk about why he did it. Sarek . . .” He stops for a moment and McCoy looks up to watch; a mixture of emotions move very fast across the other man’s face before they are gone again. “Sarek assumed it was me, but Spock didn’t choose me, he chose you.”

They stare at each other and McCoy shakes his head, “He didn’t have enough to time to really choose anyone, Jim.”

“Talk to him.” Kirk reaches out finally, hand settling on McCoy’s shoulder; he squeezes and lets go.

There is another long silence, this time much more awkward than the last.

“Do you want something to drink?” McCoy asks finally. “I have coffee or tea.” Nothing stronger - this is Vulcan after all, and it isn’t like he came prepared. Kirk nods, looking at him almost shyly, and then pastes on a smile.

“Coffee sounds great, Bones.”

II.  
Losing a friend shouldn’t nearly kill you. Losing a friend should be a blow, even a terrible blow. It shouldn’t destroy you.

Spock going to Gol hadn’t destroyed him; it had hurt, but it hadn’t paralyzed him. Maybe because McCoy had never really believed Spock would go through with it, never believed Spock would erase his emotions and leave them all behind for good. He hadn’t really believed Spock would leave them, not then, not until he watched Spock die, slowly, painfully, right in front of him without anything he could do to stop it.

McCoy should have grieved with the rest of the crew; he should have grieved with Kirk. He should have taken some time off, come to terms with his loss, called Shirley to see if she wanted to start something again, maybe visited Joanna and the grandkids. It shouldn’t have broken him apart the way it had.

McCoy knows looking back on it, even if Spock hadn’t given him his katra, even if he hadn’t been dealing with Spock’s mind inside his own, it still would have broken him. When all is said and done, when he loses Spock there will be nothing left to hold onto, and that scares the hell out of him.

It shouldn’t be like that, not between friends.

McCoy presses his forehead against his fists trying to will away some of the fog and disorientation that clouds his mind. If he loses Kirk, _when_ he loses Kirk, it won’t kill him. Oh sure he’ll grieve, longer and deeper than he ever has in his life, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never be the same, but life after Kirk, _without_ Kirk, is conceivable.

The door chimes and McCoy wearily gets up. He expects it to be Kirk again; it’s been a few days since his last visit. Instead it’s Spock standing on the other side of the door, and McCoy just stands there and gapes at him for a few moments.

“May I enter, Doctor?” There is no emotion or inflection in Spock’s voice. Not that there had ever been a lot, but McCoy had thought he had been learning; that had been before, though. McCoy stands back away from the door allowing Spock in.

“What do you want?” He doesn’t mean it to come out sounding the way it does, but he doesn’t want Spock here - not now, not like this.

“My mother requested that I inquire as to your wellbeing,” Spock tells him with as much dignity as a grown man who’s just been ordered around by his mother can have.

“I’m fine, Spock.” McCoy sounds tired even to himself, and he sits on the couch, hands folded between his knees. Spock just stands there and looks at him.

“Doctor . . .”

“Just leave it.”

Spock folds his hands into the sleeves of his robes and looks at him for a long moment. “I do not believe that your statement adequately reflects the truth of the situation, Doctor,” Spock informs him. “Since the situation concerns my actions, I would request that you speak truthfully.

McCoy sighs again and rubs his hands across his face. He can continue to refuse to talk to Spock, but Spock can easily find this information out by talking to Kirk or a number of other people. McCoy decides Spock deserves to hear it straight from him.

“The doctors and healers don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m just . . .” He holds out his hands and then clenches them back into his lap. “I’m just slipping . . . my memory, my mind . . .” He holds out his hands again.

For a long moment there is silence, and then Spock sits, tucking his robes around himself. They sit in silence for a little while longer and McCoy starts to think maybe he should be offering Spock something, maybe tea.

“Doctor.” Spock is not looking at him; instead he is looking at his hands clasped in front of himself. “I did not mean for this to be the outcome when I gave you my katra.”

“I know that.” McCoy does look at Spock. Spock looks tired and a little lost, and McCoy stamps down hard on the impulse to reach out to the other man. He shifts uncomfortably next to him and Spock rises in one fluid motion.

“Doctor.” He inclines his head slightly and turns towards the door, and McCoy gets up after him.

“That’s it?” he asks, and Spock turns back towards him.

“Is there something more you would like to discuss, Doctor?” Spock asks so calm and emotionless, and McCoy feels his temper rising and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I think I at least deserve to know why,” he says, and regrets it as soon as it comes out of his mouth. He doesn’t want to know why; he doesn’t want to know what logical reason led to Spock giving him his katra.

Spock’s eyes drop then to his own hands and then back up to McCoy. “I am afraid, Doctor, I have been unable to fully access or understand my actions and the reasons for those actions leading up to my death,” Spock tells him, and McCoy feels at once both relieved and disappointed.

“Yeah.” Spock stands there quietly watching him, waiting, and McCoy finally waves his hands in a little half shooing motion, “I’ll see you soon, Spock.”

Spock inclines his head a little again, “Of course, Doctor.”

McCoy watches him leave, and then for several long moments afterwards just watches the closed door.

III.  
He wakes up afraid and disoriented; for several long moments his skin burns like he’s on fire and he can’t breath - everything hurts. He gasps for air, struggles into a sitting position and finally manages to call out for lights. The light illuminates his small room in the little house he’s rented and he rubs his hands across his face. It’s very early, and he’s damn tired, but at least he knows where he is now. McCoy gets up and goes to the bathroom, stopping when he sees himself reflected in the mirror. He looks old and he looks tired, but he’s gotten used to both a long time ago. Now he also looks ill; there is really no denying it - he’s even thinner than he was, the lines of his face are more marked, his eyes are more sunken than they were before. He closes his eyes and takes several long careful breaths.

Kirk and the others will be leaving soon to face court-martial on Earth. Spock has been spared that, and Kirk had told him that Starfleet is willing to spare him as well; first for being out of his mind the entire time, and second because of his _illness_. That’s what everyone calls it, ‘his illness.’ They don’t say that he’s losing his mind or that he’s going senile, although he knows both are equally true. Illnesses you can recover from; brain damage is much more tricky, but no one’s saying that either.

_Damaged_

The word moves into his mind and then out, and he turns away from the mirror. He wishes he could hate Spock for this, but he can’t. He goes back to bed instead. Sleep doesn’t come, and he stares at the ceiling for a long time, desperately trying to shake the grogginess and apathy from his mind to make his brain work for God’s sake.

McCoy knows there are many things he doesn’t do well, many things he’s not good at. He’s been married twice and doesn’t even know where either of those women are now, he doesn’t see his daughter nearly enough, he drinks too much, he doesn’t deal well with stress, he can be too hard on his nursing staff, he has overly high expectations for his students at the Academy. He’s good at his job though, he always has been, and he’s smart; he’s relied on that his entire life. He’s not at all sure what he’s going to do now.

He drags himself out of bed an hour or so later when the front door buzzer rings. He’s not sure who to expect this early in the morning, but he’s somehow not at all surprised when he sees Spock.

“Doctor McCoy?”

McCoy blinks at him, suddenly becoming keenly aware that he’s still dressed in his pajamas, “Yeah Spock?”  
“I think we need to talk,” Spock says and moves past him into the house without being asked. McCoy sighs and yawns a little, and when he turns around he sees Spock pacing across his living room.

“Spock?” Spock turns to look at him for a moment and then goes back to pacing; this restless, agitated movement is very much not like the other man, and McCoy can’t help but be concerned. “What’s going on?”

Spock stops and takes a deep breath and turns to him, “I believe, Doctor, we have a problem.”

McCoy goes from alert to panic in a heart beat. “Jim . . .”

Spock holds up his hand, “No, this is a problem between the two of us. It seems . . .” For a moment he pauses, seems to search for words. “It appears that the fal-tor-pan has left us both with some sort of . . . residual mental connection.”

McCoy stares at him. “What?”

It’s not the most intelligent thing he could have said, but it’s the only thing that comes to his mind, and Spock crosses his arms over his chest, “We are bonded, not legally but mentally.”

For a long moment there is silence, and then McCoy makes his way to the couch and sinks onto it, “Ok.”  
Spock actually frowns at this, “I do not believe you understand the significance of the situation.”

“We are bonded,” McCoy cuts him off. “An intimate mental link shared between parent and child, or mates, and in very rare cases between student and mentor. Vulcan children share partial bonds with their betrothed until such time as the two are married and form a full bond or the male goes into pon farr and they must form a full bond. Because of pon farr most marriage bonds are between men and women. Male-male bonding is known on Vulcan but it is rare and usually that student-mentor bonding that I mentioned, although that too can be romantic. Some humans can bond with Vulcans, some can’t. Of the three types of bonds between Vulcans, the weakest is the parent-child bond, which is usually broken when the child comes of age.” McCoy stops talking and looks up and has the satisfaction of watching Spock snap his mouth shut, both eyebrows arching up. He looks the closest to surprised McCoy has ever seen him. “I understand, Spock,” McCoy says very gently, “I did my homework years ago; I know what this means.”

“Then I do not have to explain our situation.” Spock folds his hand together and McCoy sighs again.  
“No, of course not. We can go to a healer tomorrow to see if there is anything that can be done to break it.”  
Spock looks at him in silence for a long moment and then sits on the couch, and McCoy starts having a bad feeling again. “Could I suggest, Doctor, that we consider before doing so?” he says softly, and suddenly they are too close, the situation too intimate, and McCoy stands swiftly and starts pacing. Spock watches him but does not make any move to also rise.

“Why would you want that?” McCoy asks, trying to keep his voice neutral.

To his relief or also trepidation Spock actually considers the question, tipping his head to the side before answering, “Carrying my katra, and then the fal-tor-pan, damaged your mind,” Spock states. “A mental bond between us may allow me to help repair the damage I inadvertently caused.”

There is that word ‘damaged;’ Spock had actually said it and McCoy almost feels relieved. He’s also not sure what to make of the ache that fills his chest at the idea that Spock would want to remain bonded to him only to help with through whatever this is. “Spock . . .” He runs his fingers through his hair and thinks about the likelihood that his memory and mind might continue to deteriorate. “Ok.”

“Doctor, are you sure?”

McCoy nods, “Yeah Spock, yeah I am; if you think it might help, then yes, let’s try this.”

Spock stands then, “If that is your decision, Doctor, I suggest you take some time to get dressed and go through your morning rituals and I will see you in a few hours.”

McCoy sighs and nods and Spock turns to leave again. McCoy watches him go again, and wonders what the hell he’s getting himself into. He sighs, heads back to his room and then the bathroom to take a shower, then the kitchen for coffee.

Several hours later he stands back up from his computer when the door buzzes again. Spock looks exactly the same as he had when he’d barged into McCoy’s house earlier, except now he seems calmer. McCoy watches him carefully as Spock moves through the living room and comes to sit on the couch.

“Doctor, I must remind you that I am not trained as a healer,” Spock tells him. “However since we are bonded there are certain things I may help you with.”

McCoy nods, his palms suddenly feeling damp with sweat, and makes his way to Spock and sits next to him on the couch. He’d been preparing himself for the mind meld - he’d known it would happen - what he hadn’t been prepared for was to black out. One minute he’s sitting there next to Spock far too close to the other man, so close he can feel the heat coming off him, and then Spock’s hot, dry hand presses against his face and then nothing.

He comes back to himself lying on the couch, Spock bending over him, looking . . . strange. McCoy struggles to sit up and Spock makes a tiny, quickly aborted motion towards him and then folds his hands together instead. McCoy looks around slowly, “What happened?”

“I do not know.” Spock is watching him, “I have attempted to repair some of the damage done to your mind,” he spread his hands out slightly as if searching for word, “open some of the parts of your mind that were inadvertently blocked from you.” He looks up at McCoy again, “You seem to have fainted.”

McCoy snorts and rubs one hand across his face; he’s thirsty, but he feels . . . better . . . clearer somehow . . . as if he’s just waking up from some much needed sleep. “I think I need some water.” He gets off the couch and moves into the kitchen, pours himself a glass of water. Spock trails after him, as if making sure McCoy’s not going to suddenly pass out again, and McCoy is keenly aware of Spock’s presence hovering just over his shoulder. He takes a long drink, then sets the glass aside and turns to face Spock, gripping the edge of the counter for physical support that he doesn’t really need. “Thank you.” Spock just stares at him of course, and McCoy sighs, “It helped Spock.”

This time Spock inclines his head a little, “I am gratified to hear that.” He pauses for a moment as if to consider, “I do not believe it wise, given your reaction, to attempt anything further today, but I will return tomorrow.” McCoy feels uneasy again; it’s bad enough to have Spock in his head, even worse when he has no idea what Spock’s doing in there - a little too familiar. There are real benefits to this though, and he finally nods a little stiffly, “Ok.”

Spock just stands there and looks at him for a long moment before turning and leaving again.

That night McCoy sleeps better than he has since Spock had died. He dreams of Spock, of course. They are standing together in the desert and they don’t talk, but Spock touches McCoy’s hands and face as if they were lovers. When McCoy wakes he finds there are tears running down his cheeks.

IV.  
McCoy is sitting at his kitchen table reading the news in Vulcan and drinking coffee. When the door buzzes he gets up and opens the door, lets Spock in. “Good morning, Spock,” he waves Spock into the house. “Want some coffee?”

“I have already eaten, Doctor.” Spock hesitates in the living room, “I can come back at a later time is now is not convenient.”

“No,” McCoy heads back to the kitchen, “just let me finish up my coffee, ok?” Once again Spock trails along behind him and stands awkwardly in the kitchen until McCoy finally sighs and pushes back the chair that is across the table from his own, “Don’t hover. Sit.”

Spock sits and folds his hands on the tabletop and McCoy drinks his coffee. “How has your own work been?” McCoy finally asks, and Spock tilts his head to the side a little.

“The healers believe that I will have regained all of the skills and memories I possessed before my death within the week,” Spock informs him, and McCoy feels relieved and a little bitter all at once. Spock will be all right.

“What are you going to do after all the tests are over and they’ve cleared you?”

Spock spreads his hands flat on the tabletop and considers the question, “I have not decided.”

“Jim wants you to come back to Starfleet,” McCoy says, stating the obvious, and Spock’s eyebrows arch.

“I am aware.”

“Does Sarek want you to join the Vulcan embassy?”

Spock doesn’t respond to that, although McCoy’s pretty sure he already knows the answer; he finishes off his coffee and looks back down at the news.

“And what about you, Doctor?” McCoy looks back up again, surprised by the question. “What would you prefer I do?”

Coming from anyone else he would have wondered if he was being teased or mocked, but this is Spock, and Spock seems to genuinely be interested in the answer. What can McCoy say? I want you to stay with me, he thinks, but that’s not an answer he can give, so instead he shrugs.

“Whatever you want,” he says, and Spock gives him a long, hard look but doesn’t say anything back.

McCoy gets up from the table and carries his cup to the washing unit before turning to face Spock again. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Spock watches him for a moment and then also stands.

It’s easier this time. He doesn’t pass out and he’s more aware of Spock in his mind, more aware as Spock sifts through his memories - mostly work related. It’s uncomfortable, having Spock inside his head, but not unbearably so. Spock sits back, finally breaking the link between them, and McCoy blinks a couple times.

“I would suggest that you go to see a healer,” Spock tells him. “I believe now they may make more progress.”

McCoy nods and then looks over at Spock; he considers all the things he could say, including thanking the other man again for helping when he didn’t have to, “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“I cannot,” Spock seems to hesitate for a long moment and then stands, “I have promised my mother I would dine with her tonight.”

“It’s ok.” McCoy keeps himself from sounding like he’s disappointed; then he also gets up, “I’ll . . . I’ll see you soon then.”

“Indeed.” Spock looks like he might say something else; instead he turns, heading for the front door again, and McCoy watches him leave.

Spock doesn’t contact him the next day, or the day after that. Two days later McCoy starts feeling like a teenage girl pining after her crush, so he makes an appointment to see a Vulcan healer.

The healer looked, for a Vulcan, fairly surprised after her first mind meld. “Your mind is much clearer, McCoy,” she tells him in her inflectionless way.

“Yeah, turns out I’m bonded and it helps.”

“You are bonded to a Vulcan?” Now she really looks surprised.

“Yes, madam.” He raises his eyebrows, daring her to comment, and she wisely keeps quiet and only initiates another meld.

“Tell your mate,” she tells him before he leaves a couple hours later with a headache and feeling tired but hopeful, “that her familiarity with your mind is impressive.”

Then she gives him a slightly odd look when he grins. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

V.  
He has his second session with the healer the next day, and when he gets back to his house there is a message from Spock waiting for him. McCoy listens to the message, then glances at the glances at the time stamp on the message and then at the clock. He grabs the keys to the ground car he had rented. Twenty minutes later he pulls up in front of Ambassador Sarek’s house.

“He’s around back,” Amanda tells him when she opens the door. She smiles at him fondly and he follows her through the house and then steps out back. Vulcans don’t believe in gardens, but Amanda has potted plants on the patio, beyond that stretches desert. McCoy stops at the edge of the patio and Amanda goes back inside the house, the door sliding shut behind her. Spock of course is standing in the desert.

“Spock.”

He turns, wind blowing his hair a little out of order, looking very vulnerable, and McCoy sighs.  
Spock makes his way back over to where McCoy is standing, “Doctor, we need to talk.”

“Yeah that’s what your message said.”

“Indeed.” Spock sits at the edge of the patio where rock panel becomes sand, and McCoy isn’t sure what to do so he sits next to him.

“Well shoot.”

“Jim is planning on leaving.”

McCoy sighs again, “Yeah I know.”

“And you are not going with him.”

Spock isn’t looking at him and McCoy turns a little to look at Spock, “Are you?”

This time Spock does look at him, not that it does McCoy much good; he really can’t tell what the other man is thinking. “Have you been to see a healer, Doctor?”

“Yes.” McCoy looks away from Spock’s dark eyes and down at his hands, “She said I’m making progress; hopefully a few more sessions with her and I won’t be as good as new, but it’ll be close enough.”

“Then we should discuss our bond.”

“Spock . . .” McCoy doesn’t know what do or say; he doesn’t even know how he feels about the fact that he’s bonded to Spock, except that the thought of losing that connection seems to be twisting his insides in knots. He silently swears at himself for not being able to control this, for acting like a lovesick fool, or possibly just a fool.

“What do we need to do to dissolve the bond?”

Spock doesn’t answer; instead he turns to look back at the desert, “Would you consider allowing the bond to remain?”

McCoy’s hands suddenly start to shake and he takes a long, deep breath and then lets it out slowly, “Spock, I don’t understand.”

“I would like to formally bond with you, Doctor.” Spock still isn’t looking at him, and McCoy runs his fingers through his hair.

“If we are bonded formally, in any way, we’d be in a relationship.”

“I am aware of that,” Spock turns to look at McCoy, and they’re close, suddenly almost stiflingly so; their knees almost brush, and McCoy pushes down hard on the desire to stand and take a couple steps back. “Logically therefore it should be obvious that I wish to have a relationship with you.”

They are too close; McCoy can’t have this conversation, not like this. He places his hands against the stone of the patio and pushes himself up fast, ignoring the way his knees scream at him. He takes several steps back and Spock doesn’t try to follow him, doesn’t even stand, only watches him.

“Should I deduce that you do not wish to be in a relationship with me?”

There is something lurking just behind Spock’s eyes that McCoy can’t read, “Spock . . .” He runs his fingers through his hair again; this is too fast, too soon. Spock’s just come back from the dead, for God’s sake. McCoy’s just about lost his mind, literally; he can’t deal with this right now. “No, Spock. No, I just . . . you didn’t feel like this before you died.” He knows that - he’s always known that; Spock liked him, thought of him as a friend, but he wasn’t attracted to him. Truthfully, McCoy had always doubted whether Spock was really attracted to anyone.  
Spock steeples his fingers together and tilts his head slightly, “Are you sure about that, Doctor?”

“It’s Leonard, and yeah, pretty damn sure. Do you remember wanting to be with me?”

A faint wind blows up sand, and McCoy shades his eyes, squinting at Spock, and Spock’s hair is a little ruffled again, and McCoy aches to reach out and brush it back down. “I did give you my katra,” Spock says as if that explains everything, and McCoy wishes people would stop saying that, like he hadn’t noticed.

“So you don’t remember.” His voice is flat, and Spock shifts a little but still doesn’t stand.

“Whether I did or not makes little difference; I am asking you to bond with me now.”

There is a long moment of silence in which everything inside him screams at McCoy to say yes, to accept that maybe good things do happen sometimes. He doesn’t though, because good things don’t happen to him, especially where Spock is concerned.

“It would not need to be sexual, or even what you would call romantic.” Spock isn’t looking at him anymore but has gone back to looking out across the desert, “The bond does not necessitate that sort of relationship; it would not need to be anything more than it is now. Traditionally such a bond is a meeting of minds. When . . .” Spock’s eyelashes fall momentarily across his cheeks, “When my time comes again, the substitution of a female is always an option.”

McCoy rubs his eyes because there is something that sounds suspiciously like desperation behind Spock’s words; he knows Spock is bargaining down, and he suddenly realizes Spock is expecting him to say no. “I can’t be your good Vulcan wife, Spock,” he says, and when Spock looks up at him blankly, he sighs. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but a traditional bond between men, like the one you’re suggesting, doesn’t require sex, but it does require a submissive and dominant partner.”

“This is correct.”

“Well,” McCoy spreads his hands flat, palms up, “I don’t think I can submit to you like that.” He closes his eyes briefly, “I care about you, Spock, I care a lot, and yes, I do want this. I’ve . . .” He doesn’t need to go there though; he doesn’t need to tell Spock how long he’s wanted this, not when this isn’t going to happen. “I want this, but I can’t be what you want.”

Spock blinks up at him, and folds his hands neatly in his lap. He’s all Vulcan control except for the fact that his hair is still not lying flat, and McCoy still wants nothing more than to reach out and smooth it down. “I am not asking that of you.”

It takes McCoy a split second for his brain to catch up with the conversation, “Excuse me?”  
Both of Spock’s eyebrows go up, “Am I not being clear, Doctor?”

“It’s Leonard, and no I don’t think you are.” McCoy pinches the bridge of his nose; he has a headache coming on and he’d thought he was getting better, he really had, but he’s beginning to doubt it.

“I have spent a great deal of time thinking and meditating on this since I discovered our inadvertent mental connection.” Spock isn’t looking at him again, “I cannot tell you that I have always wanted this, Leonard; I cannot even tell you that I have wanted this for as long as you have. I cannot tell you that there will never be problems, we both know that there will be, but I have chosen you.” McCoy finally sits next to Spock again, although he knows that his knees are going to wish he hadn’t, and Spock turns towards him. “I wish to be bonded to you - not Jim, not any of the Vulcan women my family has chosen for me throughout the years, only you. I wish for us to be bonded in the traditional way of my people, and I wish for our relationship to be sexual, romantic by human terms, and I wish to be the submissive partner, I . . .”

McCoy brings one hand up and cups the side of Spock’s face and Spock stops talking. McCoy leans forward and kisses him, and Spock is very still for a moment and then both of his hands come up to cup McCoy’s face and his lips open under McCoy’s. Spock’s lips are thin, soft and hot against McCoy’s, and he kisses like he’s not at all sure what he’s doing or how to do it. Spock presses against McCoy, a little hesitant and a little sweet. McCoy tips his head for a better angle, runs his tongue gently along Spock’s lower lip, before pulling away.

“There isn’t anything else I need to know?” McCoy licks his lips and gets distracted by the fact that Spock’s eyes flick down to watch for a moment, “We don’t have to fight to the death or have sex in public, do we?”  
Spock gives him a look, “We do not.”

“Ok then.” McCoy pulls Spock close enough that he can feel Spock’s breath against his face for a moment before he kisses him again. Spock’s hands skim across McCoy’s body like he’s not sure where to touch, before settling at McCoy’s waist. Spock lips are soft, wet and pliant underneath McCoy’s and they part almost immediately, and Spock stutters out an unsteady breath that has to be one of the best things McCoy has ever heard in his life. McCoy lets his tongue sweep into Spock’s mouth a little this time and Spock tastes like dark Vulcan tea, and is unbelievably hot. McCoy pulls back, reaches out to brush down Spock’s hair, and Spock lets him. “How long is this going to take?”

“A few days - there is paperwork, and informing my parents, and mother will probably want you to dine with us at least once.”

“Well at least she likes me.” McCoy glances briefly back at the house, “That’s more than I’ve been able to say for most of my in-laws.”

“You also need to finish your sessions with the healer.”

McCoy nods, “And then I should contact Jim. I really need to go to Earth; if they’re going to be court-martialed I need to be there. I’m just as guilty as any of them, and if I’d lost you . . .” McCoy reaches out and takes one of Spock’s hands between both of his; he draws small circles on the back of Spock’s hand with the tip of one finger and then turns the hand over and repeats the action against Spock’s palm. Spock tilts his head to the side slightly, watching him, but his breathing has become a little quicker and McCoy smiles to himself. He lets go of Spock’s hand and stands slowly, his knees complaining at the abuse. Spock stands and takes his arm, and McCoy straightens up and catches Spock’s hand again. “Come home with me tonight? We can have that dinner we didn’t get to last time.”

He tries to sound casual about it and to totally ignore the fact that his hands are threatening to shake and his heart is pounding at the very idea that Spock might come back to his house with him; he tries to ignore the fact that he doesn’t seem to be able to stop staring at Spock’s lips, which look kiss-flushed and soft. Spock glances down at their clasped hands, then nods, “That would be acceptable.”

McCoy smiles, relieved, and kisses him briefly on the cheek, before turning and heading for the house.

“Leonard.”

“Yeah Spock?” McCoy stops and turns, hand resting on the door panel. Spock brushes a little sand off his robes before clasping his hands in front of himself, and suddenly he looks very much like the Spock that McCoy had known for decades, not the slightly lost and confused man McCoy’s come to know over the last few weeks.

“Tell Jim that when you go to Earth I will be coming with you.”

Just this once McCoy doesn’t argue, only nods, and Spock closes the short distance between them to follow McCoy into the house.


End file.
